James Patterson - Second Honeymoon

“Side door, unlocked,” whispered one cop through Harris’s radio.

“Basement door, down a set of stairs,” whispered another. “Also unlocked.”

Harris looked at me again. “Change your mind?”

“Sorry.”

Harris radioed back to both teams. I couldn’t help noticing that his whisper was one part quiet and three parts pissed off.

“Stay put,” he told them. “Go in when you hear shots.”

He turned around, barking at the remaining cops to push the crowd of onlookers farther back. Down the block I could see the first news van arrive. Within minutes there’d be a lot more.

“You ready?” asked Sarah.

I nodded.

“For the record, the two of you are nuts,” said Harris.

“Hey, it could be worse,” I said.

“How so?” he asked.

“She could’ve asked for all three of us.”

I gave him a slap on the arm and climbed the last remaining steps up to the church with Sarah. We stopped in front of the doors.

“Are you religious?” I asked.

“Lutheran,” she answered. “What about you?”

“Lapsed Catholic. I was an altar boy growing up, though,” I said. “That’s got to count for something, right?”

We both drew our guns.

“Let’s go find out,” she said.

Chapter 103

I TOOK ONE side; Sarah took the other. We had become a good team in a very short time, but this seemed like an impossible test.

With our backs pressed against the faded red brick facade of Saint Alexander’s, we each reached over and grabbed one of the double front doors, pulling them back slowly.

The initial fear I had came and went. Martha Cole wasn’t shooting on first movement.

After a few seconds, Sarah called out to the killer. “Martha, are you in there?”

The crowd noise down on the street made it hard to hear, but I was pretty sure there was no response. Sarah tried again, louder this time.

“Martha, it’s Agent Brubaker and Agent O’Hara,” she said. “Can we come inside?”

Cole answered this time, her voice echoing out to us. She was deep inside the church. “It better be just the two of you,” she warned.

“It is, Martha,” Sarah yelled back. “I give you my word.”

She didn’t ask us to come in unarmed—not that we were about to comply with such a request. Or so I thought.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked Sarah, who was tucking away her gun.

“She trusts me,” she said. “I have to trust her back.”

“That’s not the same girl who was crying on your shoulder this morning,” I said. “That was an act.”

“We’ll see. Trust me a little on this.”

“Okay, but we go in at the same time,” I said.

“Nah. Ladies first.”

Before I could say or do anything else, Sarah stepped out from behind the door, her hands raised in the air. If there’s a fine line between brave and stupid, Sarah had bridged it. She now had dual passports. I was so mad I could shoot her—if Martha Cole didn’t do it first.

She didn’t.

I stepped out, joining Sarah at the entrance to the church. Looking all the way down the aisle, I could see Cole standing at the altar, her arm outstretched to the side. She had her gun pressed directly against Father Reese’s head.

Slowly, very slowly, we walked toward them.

“That’s far enough!” shouted Cole.

Sarah and I stopped. We were about twenty pews back from the altar. Definitely in range, but not an easy shot.

“Martha, just let us get a little closer so we don’t have to shout to one another,” said Sarah. “The echo in here makes it very hard to talk. I want to hear what you have to say.”

Cole laughed. “Who said we were talking?”

“Why are we in here, then?” asked Sarah. “What do you want from us?”

“Soon enough,” she said. “Now have a seat.”

There was no point pressing the issue. I took a step to my right and was about to slide into the pew.

“NO!” Cole screamed. “NO, NO, NO!”

I wasn’t sure what I’d done wrong, but whatever it was I wasn’t going to keep doing it. I froze right where I was, didn’t move a muscle.

Sarah, who still hadn’t made a move to sit, raised her palms. “Whoa, whoa!” she said. “Martha, what’s wrong?”

“That’s the groom’s side,” said Cole angrily. “You need to sit on the left…the bride’s side. I’m the one who invited you.”

Oh. As in, Oh, shit, this doesn’t bode well.

Chapter 104

SARAH AND I slid into the pew to our immediate left. The bride’s side. The upside was that we could take out our guns without Cole being able to see us, something we both did instinctively.

The downside was that we were sitting. Sitting ducks, I was afraid. Still, I liked having a gun in my hand.

“Martha, we’ve done everything you’ve asked so far,” said Sarah. “We came in, we sat down where you wanted us to. Now I have to ask you to do one thing for us. You need to let Father Reese go.”

Cole smirked. “Are you left-handed or right-handed, Agent Brubaker?”

“Why do you ask?” said Sarah.

“Because I’m wondering which side of your seat would I find your gun sitting on right now.”

“You can come here and take a look for yourself. You won’t see a gun,” Sarah lied. “Not from Agent O’Hara, either.”

I was listening to this exchange, but I was also watching. For the first time, I was able to take a good look at Martha Cole in her white wedding dress, with its square-cut neckline and lace sleeves down to her elbow.

Brand new, the dress was surely pretty. Now it was dirty, scuffed, and soaked with sweat. In fact, Cole looked to be drenched from head to toe. Even her hair looked as if she’d just stepped out of the shower.

What a contrast the priest was. Sure, he hadn’t run twenty blocks swathed in taffeta on a hot June afternoon, but with a gun to his head you’d think he’d be sweating all the same. Instead, he appeared to be absolutely calm. At peace.

In fact, I almost got the sense he knew something that I didn’t. Of course, that was the feeling I always got with priests, but this was different. More earthbound.

Either way, it was probably a good thing, because Martha Cole had no intention of setting him free. Not yet at least. I hoped she wasn’t planning on setting his soul free.

“Do you know what Robbie told me when he proposed?” she asked. “He said that the two of us would be together for the rest of our lives. Forever and ever . He was very convincing.”

“Martha, I understand how upset you are,” said Sarah. “But—”

Cole cut her off as fast as a New York taxi. “He broke my heart, destroyed it,” she said. Then she flashed a sick smile. “That’s why I put a knife through his.”

Sarah shook her head, her voice growing stronger. “The killing has to stop, Martha.”

But she wasn’t listening.

“I deserved what those other couples had. I deserved it! ” she screamed.

I could practically read Sarah’s mind. Stay calm, keep the dialogue going, say her name as often as possible to keep her trust.

“I’m sure you did, Martha, but those couples didn’t deserve to die,” said Sarah. “They didn’t do anything to hurt you.”

“We all die, Agent Brubaker. I saw it every day in the war. The only variable is timing.”

“But you don’t get to decide that, Martha. You don’t get to play God.”

“But I did, didn’t I?”

There was something in the way she said it, the emphatic use of the past tense. The sense of finality.

My mind started racing. So many thoughts, questions, unknowns.

Two in particular.

Where was that strange green bottle the young priest outside had mentioned to us? And what was in it?